


Working It Out

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-04
Updated: 2003-05-04
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Working It Out

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Working It Out

### Working It Out

#### by Forbes

  


Date: Monday, January 13, 2003 5:00 PM 
    
    
         Title: Working It Out
         Author: Forbes
         Pairing: Sk/D
         Rating: N17 for language and mild slash action.
         Feedback: To - , thank you.
         Disclaimer: Not mine.
         Author's notes: Thanks again to Georgia for her eagle-eyed
         beta.  She doesn't let me get away with anything!  Any cock-
         ups, (no pun intended) are entirely mine.
         This is for Julie, in exchange for the CD - thanks J!!
         Lookin' forward to it!!! Despite dire warnings from Georgia,
         there will not be a sequel. This is just a stand-alone bit
         of fluff that occured to me while I was bored to tears on a
         running-machine. You get to fill in the blanks for yourself!
    

* * *

Striding across the parking lot, Skinner glanced at the gym bag gripped tightly in his hand and picked up his pace. The wind blew icy rain in his face, and water was beginning to seep down his collar. 

"Damn," he muttered as a car surfed past him, creating a wake of water that did nothing to prolong the life of his shoes. 

He shook the water off, cursing the weather, inconsiderate car drivers and work, in particular, a certain Special Agent. 

Damn the way his face kept creeping into his mind, damn the way a particular aftershave lingered in his office long after the owner left, and damn the way his heart had started to beat in arrrhythmic way whenever that certain person stood near. 

Maybe good hard exercise would clear his mind of the image of Special Agent John Doggett. 

Moving his gym bag to his other hand, he pulled the door open and sighed gratefully at the blast of warm air. 

"Hi!" The plastic-looking team player behind the desk smiled widely as Skinner handed over his membership card. "You have a good work-out, Mr. Skinner." 

Nodding with a grim smile, he pushed his way past the turnstile and strode over towards the men's locker rooms. A good work-out? He didn't know about that, but he was going to try and lose himself with exercise, anyhow he'd left his work piled up on his desk and cut out, unable to stand the ticking of the wall clock an instant longer. Kim had left an hour before, with a cheery smile and warning not to stay too late, and her absence was somehow worse than her being there to nag him about overwork. Besides, in the silence of the empty office, there was too much room for thoughts of a certain Special Agent to pop up in his head. Thoughts that didn't just pop in, they looked around and made themselves comfortable. And it was driving him nuts. 

One thing he didn't need was an obsession with one of his subordinates. 

Especially a male one. 

Especially Doggett. 

* * *

Digging through his sports bag, Doggett frowned and searched again. Where the hell were his running shorts? He tipped the contents onto the bench. Towel, gray wife-beater, change of clothes and deodorant. 

But no running shorts. 

But, Godammit! He always put them in his bag as soon as he did the laundry. 

His mind flicked through his routine... Laundry room, washer, drier, sports bag. 

Always the same... He frowned, thinking back. The phone had rung... he had answered it, and... Shit! 

Stuffing everything back in the bag with very bad grace, he cursed his absent-mindedness, the image of his running shorts lying on the top of the laundry basket, taunting him. 

Sitting down, he glanced at the bag accusingly, going over his options in his mind. 

He could do his set in his jockstrap... 

No. He winced. That was not an option. A public gym was not a place a man wore nothing but a jockstrap unless he wanted to get slammed up against the wall and fucked. 

He shook his head. Once, that might have been vaguely appealing, but since becoming a Special Agent, he couldn't take the risk. And since clamping eyes on his boss, he didn't have the heart. 

Option 2 was to go home, forget about his workout and spend the rest of the evening and night trying not to beat off in utter frustration at the fact he was working for a man he would get down on his knees for in an instant, but who would probably take out his gun and shoot him if he tried it. 

Sighing, he lifted his hand and stared at the only item of clothing his bag had contained. Option three just happened to be the skimpy spandex cycling shorts he'd bought in a mad fit of perversity. The ones that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The ones he had worn once to go biking and had gotten so many whistles he'd vowed never to wriggle into them again. 

* * *

Running lightly up the stairs, Skinner fiddled with his midi-player, untangling his headphones. The way he figured it, he could get a couple of hours working out, then pick up a take-out from that new Polish restaurant he'd been promising himself he'd try, then home for a movie and bed. Perfect. 

He slipped in to the spacious room, pleased at finding it quiet. This was why he picked this gym. Off the beaten track, he could guarantee he could work out in peace, without danger of bumping into anyone from the Bureau . The fact there was a gym at the Hoover made sure hardly anyone went the expense of joining another private gym, and that suited him down to the ground. Anonymity. It was expensive, but worth it. Besides, the thought of running into Agent Doggett in the Bureau gym was too much for a body to bear. 

Hooking the player on his shorts, he made his way through the various machines to his favourite treadmill, the one at the back, facing the emergency exit. He worked out months ago that no-one tried to engage him in conversation if he wore headphones and choose the machine right at the back of the room. Not that he was totally anti-social, but he valued the time he had in here. Time he could lose himself, concentrate on exercise, and push all thoughts of Agent Doggett out of his mind. 

He pressed the buttons for his usual run-time and began to jog, shaking to loosen up as he ran. 

Sighing contentedly, he flicked on his player, smiling as the drum beat and guitar pumped into his ears, drowning out the crappy techno-musak in the room. 

God, that was better. A nice long run with Bob Segar serenading him. His voice was a solid-gold guarantee that Doggett wouldn't intrude on his thoughts. 

He raised his arms above his head to loosen his shoulders, fixed his eyes on the fire alarm on the wall opposite and tuned the world, the weather and his employees out of his mind. 

* * *

Stretching his legs, Doggett rolled his shoulders and punched the settings into his running machine. Time, weight... It might be considered vaguely ridiculous that he was hiding out here to avoid the possibility of seeing his boss at the Bureau gym, but that was precisely what he was doing. Hiding. 

The only up-side was that he had never been fitter, the frequency with which he was forced to push himself to mindless exhaustion had honed his body to a lean, chiselled condition it hadn't seen since his early Marine days. 

Level? Finger poised, he ignored his better judgement and stabbed in the number 12, grimly clinging to the idea that if he was running hard enough, his thoughts would be concentrated to breathing and not falling over, and most definitely not on his boss. 

He pulled at the bottom of his wife-beater, wishing it was a couple of inches longer. Those damned shorts didn't have half as much coverage as he had hoped. Or remembered. In fact, he didn't know what the hell he'd been thinking, buying a pair this tight. He ran a palm over his left buttock, feeling very vulnerable. A lot of gay guys frequented this gym, a fact that hadn't escaped his notice when checking out places to join. A definite bonus plus the place was as well-equipped as the trendier places. Smiling to himself at the thought of 'well-equipped', he smoothed his rear-end again and press enter to start the machine. 

It began to glide, forcing him to start moving. Walking briskly, he pouted out his lower lip and began to run as the pace increased towards his punishing setting. 

Yeah... This was good. His feet pounded, arms pumped as he settled into a steady rhythm, his breathing deep and open-mouthed. 

One foot in front of the other... Stare at the minutes ticking by...He would run until his breath came via shards of glass and his muscles screamed in torment. Then he would move on to weight machines, which he would lift and push hard enough to mix sweat with tears. And later, he would punish the one muscle he couldn't deal with in the gym. Punish it under a torrent of cold water until it promised to behave. 

That was the plan. That was his routine. 

* * *

Breathing deeply, Skinner stretched, easing the muscles that were thrumming gently after his run. 

Pulling his arms behind his back, he exhaled, eyes closed. He had almost done it. Very nearly done his half-our run without letting Doggett sidle into his mind. 

Admittedly, it's only been a passing thought, but it was enough to put him off his stride and made the last ten minutes seem like twenty. He pushed one leg out behind his and stretched the calf muscle. 

It had been in that song where Bob held that high note, strong and pure, that made the hairs on his neck shiver, which led to his wondering if Doggett had a decent tenor voice, what with it being so deep. That stray thought introduced him to the possibility that the other man might have a good voice that would make the hairs on his neck stand up. And of course, that led to all sorts of other ways Doggett could make his hair stand on end. 

Bingo. End of concentration and the last ten minutes of his run were spent in frustrated clock-watching. 

Damn the man. If he had ever shown the slightest indication that he was interested in men 'that' way, and if he wasn't the boss, then he would have been seriously tempted to make a move on the younger man. But as that was not an option, he'd just have to make do with punishing exercise or his trusty right hand. 

Rolling his neck from side to side, Skinner glared at the racks of weight-lifting machinery arranged at the rear of the room. Yes. That would do it. A long, hard session taking his body to the limits. He smiled. And them maybe he could indulge in a Jack Daniels or two and a jerk-off session without that annoying twinge of guilt. 

Decision made, he marched over to the abs bench. 

* * *

Bent over, dragging deep breaths into uncooperative lungs, Doggett tried not to let his sweaty hands slip off his knees. He was sure he'd fall flat on his face if they did. He gasped and heaved while droplets of sweat threw themselves off the end of his nose to splash between his feet. 

Damn... he was going to give himself a coronary this way. He straightened slowly, easing himself upright, his shirt sticking to his back, irritating him. 

Pausing on his way to another machine, a pretty blonde smiled at him. 

"Tough run, huh?" 

Doggett nodded and wiped his face with his hand. He smiled back. This was just the thing to take his mind off work. 

"Yeah. I figured by next month I'll either be in shape or in the ground." 

Green eyes flickered over his body. "Looks to me like you're pretty much in shape already." 

Doggett tried not to let his surprise show. He shrugged. "I guess." 

Was this guy making a move on me, he wondered? "Thanks," he added, as an afterthought. 

The young man shrugged back, his eyes still unashamedly tracking over Doggett's chest. "This your usual place?" he asked, his gaze wandering lower. 

Battling the urge to tug the hem of his shirt over his spandex-covered crotch, Doggett shuffled his feet. 

"Yeah. It's quiet. I like it like that." 

The message might be a little late, but it was definitely getting through to him. 

He could easily strike up a conversation with this guy, they would flirt, he would charm and before you knew it, he'd be getting a phone number. Those green eyes were telling him that was the way it would go. All he had to do was talk. 

Doggett swallowed and kept his mouth shut. 

The green-eyed man stared a moment longer, then shrugged. 

"Me too." The eyes flicked up and mouth twitched provocatively. "Well... See you around, then." Turning, he started to move towards the other running machine. 

Doggett watched him, allowing his eyes to check out the shape he made in his tight lycra outfit. 

"Yeah," he said as the guy flicked a glance over his shoulder at him in that universal 'I'm interested' kind of way. He flashed perfect teeth, and Doggett couldn't help smiling back, wondering why the hell he wasn't trotting after him to ask if he'd join him for a drink after their workout. 

As the tight rear-end disappeared behind a row of skiing machines Doggett ran a hand over the back of his neck, smearing the sweat around, shaking his head at himself. 

What was the matter with him? He must be nuts, ignoring the signals that guy was giving him. 

The phrase 'on a plate' rattled in his head. 

Nuts. He was going nuts. And Walter Skinner was the cause. 

He sighed and rolled his neck, relishing the scrunch of vertebrae, and from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of a bald head. Oh, Jesus, he thought, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Not again... 

For Christsake! He couldn't even go to the market without thinking he saw him. Couldn't fill his truck with gas without imagining the attendant was Skinner. It was getting ridiculous. 

There was probably a medical term for seeing your boss in any street basketball court, in the downtown bus queue and even three gardens down in his own damned street. 

Yeah, John, he mused, it's called an obsession. And it's fucking ridiculous, if not downright pathetic. He bent to rest his hands on his knees again, stretching his legs. 

Pathetic. 

* * *

Bending in the middle to bring your knees to your elbows wasn't the greatest of ways to spend a Friday night, Skinner thought. And definitely not the easiest of things to do. 

He flopped back, belly trembling and wiped his eyes. The things we do for sanity and vanity. 

Staring at the ceiling, he counted the holes in the tiles, trying to get his breathing back to normal. 

He had decided to punish himself by putting an extra 10lbs on the resistance end of the bench, and was regretting it intensely. Served him right for letting Doggett into his head again, as Bob sang about rolling away. 

He screwed his eyes up and began another set of crunches, angry that against his will, Doggett had managed to creep into his thoughts again. As Bob took a bead on the northern plain in his head Skinner's mind conjured up an image of Doggett on the back of a some big old motorbike, all jeans, leather jacket and sunglasses. 

Skinner had to literally force himself to get to the 15th scrunch before collapsing down. 

Damn the man. He just wouldn't go away. 

He peeled his damp tee-shirt away from the vinyl bench and dragged himself into an upright position. Much more of this and his belly wouldn't speak to him for a week. He rubbed below his ribcage, wincing. 

"Going for the burn?" 

Skinner looked up, pulling his earpieces out. "Excuse me?" 

A woman with very short hair and tight muscles winked at him. "I see you've got a fair weight going on." She nodded at the amount of resistance Skinner had piled on. 

"Oh." He rubbed his stomach. "Yes. I was going to see if I could beat my best." 

"Cool." 

Skinner took a moment to study the woman in front of him. She was in fine shape, very short shorts and cropped tee-shirt, a nice tan and good teeth. Almost boyish in appearance. 

"You here alone?" 

"Beg your pardon?" He hadn't been listening. The woman's biceps were quite outstanding. 

"You by yourself?" 

"Er... Yes... I mean no." He wasn't in the mood for this, however nice those bulges were. 

The woman laughed gently. "So which is it? Yes, or no?" 

Carefully untangling his wires, Skinner did a quick assessment in his head. He could start a conversation with this woman, get to know her, maybe go for a drink...Then who knows? 

But was that what he wanted? It wasn't as if his social life was crammed right now, and he was about as screamingly single as a man could get, and yet... 

Attractive as she was, he wasn't attracted enough. She didn't have blue eyes and she wasn't a man. 

More to the point, she wasn't one particular man. 

"I'm sorry. I'm..." He shrugged. 

"Not interested?" 

Skinner smiled. "Not available." 

"Oh." The woman shrugged too. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she said. 

Skinner smiled widely. "Thank you." 

"For?" 

"Trying." 

"No problem." As she walked away, he watched the tight bottom moving in those tight shorts appreciating both her efforts and her gluteus maximus. 

There must be something terribly wrong with him to have turned away something like that. Wasn't as if he was averse to women, and that one was androgenous enough to have maybe pretended... 

He shook his head, plugging his ears back in. Something very wrong indeed. 

* * *

Bending over the drinking fountain, Doggett allowed himself to watch the blonde man on the skiing machine. There was an elegance in the way he swung his hips that was hypnotic and compulsively appealing. He usually went for blondes. Young, slim blondes. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. That was definitely his 'type'- or at least it had been until... 

Christ! He was obsessed. If he could just get that damned man out of his head for five minutes, he'd feel a whole lot better. 

Running his hand through his wet hair, he tried to admire the view again. More to the point, maybe he'd stand a chance at getting laid. He should take a vacation. Get away somewhere. Hell, he was owed a hideous amount of personal time. Skinner had all but begged him to take some time before the next financial year came up. Maybe if he went somewhere hot, he could sort his head out. Get the spectre of a bald head and broad chest out of his head. 

Yeah... that's be good. Sun, sand and sex. 

Wiping his damp hand down his chest, Doggett grinned as he moved towards the drinking fountain. 

His cousin ran a travel agency. He could call Ray and get a holiday the same day. At a discount. 

He bent to drink. The water ran cool and refreshing into his mouth. Just two mouthfuls, he didn't want to get cramps. Rising, he wiped the moisture from his mouth and froze, hand halfway across his face. 

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

It couldn't be... God wasn't _that_ cruel, surely? 

Narrowing his eyes as his hand slowly dropped to his side; Doggett stared across the gym at the profile that had grabbed his attention. The glare of a bald head was sitting at one of the hip abductor machines facing the wall. A bald head attached to a body Doggett had spent many a meeting studying. 

Shit! What the hell was he doing here? Ducking down slightly, Doggett pulled a face. 

There was no way Skinner could see him. Could he? 

He frowned. Maybe... But then he hadn't come up to speak, so did that mean he was being ignored? Was it poor etiquette to speak to a subordinate at the gym? 

Christ... this was too hard. Doggett grimaced and wiped a trickle of sweat from the side of his head. Should he go up and say hello? That would be the polite thing to do. If Skinner had seen him and was waiting for him to make the first move, then it'd be rude to leave without any acknowledgment. 

But did he really want to invade the man's privacy? More to the point, did he want Skinner to invade his? 

He snorted gently. Like that was gonna make a difference! He couldn't be any more invaded if he'd greased up his hand and shoved it up Doggett's ass clean up to his elbow. 

He watched the other man forcing the padded bars together with his knees, open...shut...open... He looked away. 

Uh-uh. 

There was no way he could stand and watch _that_. There was a good reason why the gym staff stuck that machine facing the wall. 

His eyes snuck back up for another traitorous look. 

Open... Shut...Open... 

Groaning, he shoved his hand in front of his eyes. Goddamnit! If he was going to say something, he'd have to wait until he'd got off that machine. There was no way he could hold a conversation with Skinner's legs doing that. 

With grim determination, he sat down at the chest press. A quick set of reps on this would give Skinner time to finish, and him time to get his thoughts back on something like a decent track. 

Although with him in that tee-shirt and shorts, doing that was going to be more than a little difficult. 

Maybe it'd be best to just sneak out the back and have done with it. 

What the hell was he doing in _his_ gym, anyhow? 

* * *

Getting up very carefully, Skinner stretched his thighs. 

Oh sweet Jesus! That was a killer. Whoever thought up that particular machine was a total sadist. 

He walked gingerly towards the drinking fountain, trying not to clutch at himself. 

God only knows when he'd feel the need crack walnuts with his inner thighs, but any more reps on that thing and he'd be able to do it, no problem. 

Mind you, the thought of using his inner thighs to... 

Swallowing a groan, he rubbed his eyes. This 'distraction-with-exercise' thing wasn't working one little bit. 

Even with his body in pain, his mind wandered over to the Doggett-drawer in his sub-conscious and yanked it wide open. 

The filing-cabinet of filth he had stored away was both mortifying and exhilarating. On one hand it proved he was a normal, healthy guy with an active sexual imagination concerning members of the same sex, but on the other, the voracity and depth of said imagination shocked him. 

When had the cut of Doggett's shirt become of paramount importance to his day? 

How did the way his trousers pulled over his rear become the highlight of the working week? 

And as a superior, how could he _allow_ himself to sink to the depths of dropping stuff on the floor, just because he knew Doggett's instinctive good manners insisted he pick it up? That was happening more and more often, these days. 

It was definite. He was disgusting. Agent Doggett was working for a pervert. 

He shook his head. Maybe therapy would help him work through this problem. 

Get some professional help before Doggett suspected something and made a complaint that his boss was sexually harassing him. 

He felt the heat rise in his face at the thought of the Director having to have a word with him about his conduct. 

He bent to the fountain to sip. Running his hand under the trickle of water, he smoothed it on his hot face. That was better. 

Looking idly round the room, he ran his hand over the top of his head. He really ought to get ... 

Shit! 

Oh, shitshitshit! 

No... It couldn't be... Skinner's hand froze on his forehead. No way! What the hell was he doing in here?! 

Sitting not ten feet away, Doggett pushed the chest-press forward with focussed concentration, his eyes screwed up tight, his mouth in a grim line. 

He couldn't be here! Skinner shook his head, blinking hard to clear the picture in front of his eyes. 

Nope, it was still Doggett. 

While he was stunned, Skinner's eyes took the opportunity to roam all over the man in front of him. They feasted on the straining vest, noting the gleam of sweat on his arms, relishing the bulge of muscles. 

Blinking to clear his head, Skinner panicked, and stepped back out of sight. He hadn't seen him, had he? He could sneak out and not have to face him in this state. 

He frowned. If Doggett had spotted him, then it would be horrible to just ignore him - the height of bad manners. He peeked around the corner. The other man was sitting forward, elbows resting on his knees, his back heaving slowly as he got his breath back. 

And a very nice back it was, too. Skinner's mind whispered. Broad and strong. Good muscle definition... 

He snapped his head back. This was not good. He couldn't do this. 

Couldn't hold a sensible conversation with Doggett dressed like that... Hell, with _him_ dressed like this. 

He glanced down at his clothes. At least he hadn't gone with the muscle-vest today. Small mercies. 

Maybe he should just carry on with his work-out, pretending he hadn't seen him. 

That might work. Put the ball in his court; let him decide whether or not to talk. 

Yeah. He slipped around the other side of the pillar and made his way over to the free weights. 

Screw it. He really wasn't in the mood for doing a set of these, but it was the only piece of equipment that he could lie down on out of sight. 

Wriggling to get comfortable, he pulled a face and tried not to think about the word 'equipment'. 

* * *

Three sets of twenty presses was quite enough. 

Doggett sat back and blew out a breath. Not bad. He flexed his arm experimentally. He was getting some serious muscle definition thanks to all this hard work. 

Yeah. Thanks to his repeated hiding-out sessions, more like. 

He glanced up. Not that hiding was going to be much of an option from now on. Not with _him_ here. Stretching, he stood looking left and right, curious as to where Skinner had disappeared to. 

Had he seen him and decided to leave? He frowned. That was an unsettling thought. That would mean he was avoiding him. 

A sudden thought sliced cold and sharp into his belly. 

Had he noticed him looking in the office? Had the fact that he couldn't go five minutes in a meeting without glancing across at the desk, driven him nuts? He'd been careful ... He was sure he had. He was painfully aware that he was walking a knife-edge at work - trying to balance normal behaviour with this burning, aching obsession. Maybe he'd not been as careful as he thought. One too many glances at the other man's chest... a gaze held too long across a meeting room. 

Shit. 

Turning, he scoured the gym floor for a naked head. He should go up and speak to him. Act naturally. After all, even if he wasn't spending great chunks of time in his head he'd surely speak to his boss if he ran into him someplace. 

Okay, John. Act natural. 

He cleared his throat and wandered between the machinery, flexing and stretching, trying to look casual despite the churning in his guts. 

* * *

There were seventy four holes in that ceiling tile. 

Skinner admitted it was more than a little sad to have lain there and counted just because he didn't want to stand up and adjust the weight and risk catching Doggett's eye. 

He sighed. He was acting like some crush-ridden teenager, not a mid-forties professional. Get a damned grip, Walter. Grow up. 

He closed his eyes to keep from being tempted to check if all the tiles had the same number of holes. 

"I said: 'Hi there'." 

Skinner jumped like a circus flea, arms jerking out, his eyes snapping open. John Doggett stood above him, his upside-down head staring down. 

Skinner stared at him. "Oh..." Words trickled out on to the floor in the face of his sweat-darkened vest. He slowly pulled the earpieces from his ears. 

Shit... How long had Doggett been standing there? Had he been watching him laid out, not doing anything? 

Scratching the back of his suddenly hot neck, Doggett gave a little smile. "I, um... saw you over there...." He pointed vaguely to the left, not wanting to indicate the leg-spreading machine in case he blushed. 

Skinner continued to stare up, his eyes riveted. The bottom of the other man's vest rode up a touch when he lifted his hand, exposing a tiny strip of stomach. Hairless, shining stomach. 

The gym was suddenly very warm. 

"Yes?" he whispered. 

"Uh-huh." The hand came back down, hiding the belly away. "So I thought... y'know, I'd say 'hi'." He grinned. "But you were in a world of your own." 

"Yes," Skinner said again, part of him wishing Doggett would point at something else and show that intriguing flash of skin again. 

He stared up and Doggett stared down, neither speaking. 

Skinner blinked, breaking the stalemate. Jumping Jesus! What the hell was he doing? He tucked the earphones away in his shorts pocket and tried to sit up, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. 

He grasped the edge of the vinyl bench and pulled, but the strain of having done two rounds of scrunches earlier had turned his stomach-muscles to two-day-old lettuce. He grunted, flopping back. 

"Here..." A large hand appeared in front of his nose. 

"I can manage," he said, bristling with macho pride. He struggled to get upright again. 

"Yeah, I can see that." 

The hand stayed where it was. 

Begrudgingly, Skinner took hold of the proffered hand. He knew the only way he was going to get up off this thing was with help. There was always the roll-off-onto-the-floor manoeuvre, but he didn't think his dignity could stand Doggett seeing him flop in a heap at his feet. 

"Thank you," he muttered, closing his fingers over the hand. 

Doggett's hot, strong.... 

Skinner swallowed and allowed Doggett to sit him up. 

Doggett was inordinately pleased to see his hand didn't shake as Skinner's larger one fitted into it. God... The contact felt good. He pulled, aware that he could probably throw his boss halfway across the gym if he wanted. Why was it about this other man that made him feel such a caveman? He'd be beating his chest and grunting next. 

"Okay?" he said as Skinner swivelled to sit up. He tried not to shuffle his feet like an awkward kid. 

"Yes. Thank you." Skinner licked his lips, his face flushed. Sitting at mid-chest to the agent, he was acutely aware of his proximity, of their state of dress and the fact that his mind was desperately trying to imagine what Doggett looked like underneath his clothes. 

Skinner wondered if what he was thinking was written on his face? He hoped not. 

"I'm okay now," he lied, still not letting go of Doggett's hand. 

Doggett nodded, hypnotised by the pattern of sweat on the top of Skinner's head. He was only dimly aware that they were still holding hands. 

The clank and squeak, grunt and groan of the gym faded into white noise as they stared at one another. Skinner was entranced by a tiny droplet of sweat that was meandering down the side of Doggett's neck, trailing carelessly towards the hollow at the base of his throat. He wanted to reach out and touch a finger to it, to gather it up and taste it. 

He also wondered if he'd exceed his daily salt intake if he swept his tongue across the glistening skin of Doggett's neck. 

"You sure?" Doggett asked, his voice scratchy and low. He wanted to clear his throat, but couldn't spare the breath. 

Skinner nodded, eyes locked at the base of the other man's throat. The drop had nestled there, melting into the hollow. His gaze slid sensuously down Doggett's upper chest as easily as oil on silk. Slithered to where the top of his muscle-shirt lay darkened with perspiration, the tight material emphasising the curve of his chest, the damp spreading towards a dark area under each arm. Skinner's mouth went dry. 

Oh shit, he was in trouble. 

What was wrong, Doggett wondered? He knew perfectly well why he was standing like a stunned wildebeest, but Skinner was sitting there as if he'd been shot full of anaesthetic. 

He stared down, wondering if his boss was going to be sick, or faint. 

Or maybe punch him in the balls for holding on to his hand so long. 

He dipped down to look in Skinner's eyes. He wasn't looking at him, or rather, he wasn't looking at his face, he was staring straight ahead at his chest. 

Doggett frowned and looked down at himself. What? He was sure his clothes were clean. Okay he was all sweaty, but they were in a gym. For God's sake. He was _supposed_ to be all sweaty. 

"You sure you're okay?" he asked again, hoping the other man wasn't going to puke. 

Slowly, he watched the dark eyes lift to his face. Skinner was flushed; his cheeks full of colour, eyes bright, breathing slightly ragged. The sight look the last of Doggett's unsteady breath. There was an expression in those eyes that he hadn't seen before. He ran through his catalogue of 'Skinner's looks', but couldn't find one he recognised in what he saw in Skinner's face. 

"I'm...." Skinner was going to say 'fine', but with a moment of almost painful clarity, he realised he wasn't, he hadn't been for some time, and wasn't going to be in the near future until he faced up to this, one way or another. 

"A.D. Skinner?" 

Squeezing his hand slightly, Skinner smiled. "Walter," he said. "I think you could call me Walter, out of work, don't you?" 

Doggett felt his jaw drop slightly. He glanced at their hands. Skinner had squeezed his hand. He was still holding his hand. And asking him to use his first name. Could this get any weirder? He narrowed his eyes, was this way of letting him know he was going to get his shoes covered in vomit or punched into the middle of the next budget meeting? 

"I'm..." Skinner took a deep breath. He could handle this. No... Don't think about 'handling' anything just yet. He told himself that he could have a normal conversation with this man. Okay, so he might want to slam him up against the wall and rip his clothes off, but for the moment, talking without stuttering would be good progress. 

"...I'm pleased you came over to say hello." 

"You are?" Doggett shook his head at his inane reply. "I mean... Okay, yeah. Thanks." He pulled his eyes off their hands and back to the solemn face as Skinner stood up. That slightly odd look was still there. "And I guess it's 'John', to you, too." 

Skinner's smile lit up her face. "John," he nodded. "Okay. Deal." 

Doggett felt his hand being shaken in a business-like fashion. He looking down at it, still somewhat shocked at having seen Skinner grin like that. 

At least his boss had nice nails. Clean and short. Call him strange, but he hated long nails on men. 

"How long have you been comin' here?" he asked, immediately missing the touch as Skinner's hand fell away. 

He shrugged. "About 6 months. On and off. Whenever I get the chance." 

Doggett smiled. "I know what you mean. I never seem to get my money's worth outta my membership." 

Watching Skinner almost smiling, he decided that although he liked it, it also made him a little nervous. Like Skinner knew something he didn't. He went to put his hands in his pockets, realised he didn't have any, and clumsily turned the movement into a head-scratch and wave at the bench. 

"You were gonna use this?" 

Skinner glanced behind. What was he going to say to that? That he was just using it to hide? Uh-uh. No way. 

"I was. But I think I might have pulled something," he said, mentally crossing his fingers against the lie and flexing a shoulder. He jerked his head. "You want to use it?" 

Doggett smiled and nodded, thrilling Skinner. 

"Sure." 

"Okay, then." 

Nodding, Doggett grinned. He hadn't expected Skinner to move aside and let him go on the bench, but was inordinately pleased that he had. The caveman in him silently beat his chest in exaltation. He wasn't so far up the evolutionary ladder as to turn down a chance to show off. 

"I'd check the weight," Skinner said, still holding his imaginary injury. 

Ducking down Doggett bent over the bar to look at the black discs on the end. "Don't wanna bust a gut tryin' to lift too much." 

Skinner swallowed hard. 

Black lycra. 

Oh shit.... Oh God... Doggett was wearing black lycra. How could he have missed that? 

The shorts pulled tight over the man's hard ass as he bent down, his vest riding up a touch over the waist. Skinner's eyes tracked eagerly over the two mounds of his rear-end, taking in every nuance of muscle that twitched, the line of the seam and the way the legs clung to his thighs. 

"Sure you're up for that much?" he asked innocently, his insides cheering as Doggett ducked down to look again. Holy Mother, but that was a _good_ position to see him in... 

"Be okay, I reckon." He stood up, scratching the back of his neck. That was probably a shade too much for him, ordinarily, but he wasn't about to lighten it in front of Skinner. 

Doggett looked at the bench, unable to look at Skinner's face, the thought of lying down in front of him tormenting him. All of a sudden, he was regretting asking to do this. How was he going to keep from getting hard once he was on his back in front of this man? 

Skinner pursed his lips, his mind rushing all over the place in its haste to point out that it had been waiting long time to see Doggett on his back. 

"Go for it," Skinner said gravely, hoping his voice didn't betray him. He tucked his hands behind his back, biting his lip against the wicked grin that threatened. This was gonna be so good. 

"Um... Sure." Doggett cleared his throat. This was seeming less and less like a good idea. 

Skinner nodded. 

"Okay..." He stepped to stand astride the bench, wondering if he was about to make a prize fool of himself. Still, it was too late to worry about that now. 

He lay down, ducking his head under the bar, wriggling his feet either side of the bench, getting them at 90%. 

He wiped his damp hands on his shirt and grabbed the bar purposefully. "Tried liftin' with slippy hands once..." he said, adjusting his positioning. "Damn near dropped the thing." 

"Yeah, you need to make sure you get a good grip." 

Doggett looked sideways. Was that a little double-meaning, or was he just being over-sensitive? 

Skinner put his hand over his mouth to smother his grin. 

The look on Doggett's face was priceless. He was well aware that he was treading a thin line, with the double-meanings, but he just couldn't help himself. Damnit, he was out of hours and off work-territory, maybe that was why he felt out of control and reckless. Or maybe it was simply because Agent Doggett was lying prone in front of him in tight lycra. Whatever. It was too much to expect him to behave. 

"Yeah... Dry hands," Doggett repeated, looking at the bar, curling and tightening his grip. 

Nah. Skinner wasn't teasing, Skinner didn't tease. He was just being stupid and over-sensitive. Seeing your boss in gym shorts and tee shirt would do that to you. 

He focussed on the ceiling, took a couple of deep breaths and braced himself. 

He lifted the bar, blowing out hard. This much weight was a struggle, truth be told. Red-faced, he came down from straight-arms to hover above his chest. 

Shit! This was tough, but the macho part of him was pleased he had the chance to show off. 

He heaved and pushed up again, vaguely aware he sprayed a shower of spit over himself as he blew out. 

Fucking hell... His arms trembled as he reached the apex of the lift. 

Skinner watched in silence. The weight was obviously a strain for the slighter man, his muscles jumped and bulged under the weight. He watched, entranced at the way Doggett's skin gleamed in the strip-lighting, tiny droplets of moisture caught in the hollow of his throat and the pale hairs on his chest. He held his fingers tight behind his back, for fear of not being able to resist reaching out and squeezing a bicep... Or one of those bouncing pectorals. He swallowed again. 

The bar went up and down slowly, three more times. Each time, the tremble became more pronounced, Doggett's face got redder and redder. 

"John?" he said, starting to feel concerned that something was going to burst inside his agent. There was no reply. He tried again. "John, I think that's enough." 

Doggett's eyes briefly flickered over to him. Skinner watched him struggle defiantly through two more reps before placing the bar back on the stand and letting his arms flop down. 

That must have hurt like a bitch, Skinner thought. Stubborn man, he thought, proudly. He allowed his gaze to wander over the muscular arms, down onto Doggett's chest. His heaving, sweaty chest. 

"Think that was a personal best," Doggett said proudly, lying there rubbing his arms. 

Skinner stood in silence, hands behind his back. Doggett frowned. Why wasn't he paying attention? Jeez... You fight to get a personal best and the person you're trying to impress ignores you. 

His male pride whined. 

"Walter?" 

He watched the older man jump, his eyes flicking from down by his chest up to look Doggett in the face. 

"You okay?" 

"Huh?" 

Doggett's frown deepened. He'd never heard his boss use that expression before. And he had that vacant look on his face again. It niggled him that he knew he'd seen it someplace else, but couldn't quite put his finger on where. 

"You were miles away." 

Skinner nodded, colour flooding into his face as he looked down. _That_ was something he didn't think he'd ever seen on his boss' face. 

Skinner nodded, acutely aware that his guilt at ogling Doggett's chest had caused a flood of colour to rush to his face and a rush in his underwear. He swallowed, fervently grateful that only one of the two floods was visible, thanks to a long shirt. 

"You did good," he muttered. "Handled the weight well." Skinner felt himself flush more at his words. 

'Handled'... was he nuts?! 

He let go of the death-grip on his fingers and waved a hand. 

"Real good." Dragging a smile out onto his face, Skinner fixed his eyes on Doggett's face, promising himself that he would look nowhere but into those blue depths. 

Within seconds and without his permission, his traitorous eyes crawled away from the lure of blue and began a lascivious tour of the supine body, slithering down the chest, over the flat belly and down to the Lycra. 

Oh shit... Lycra. 

With Doggett lying flat on his back and holding the bar, his shirt had ridden up, revealing the Lycra in all its glory. 

And what was in there. 

Skinner's eyes widened. Never in a million years would he have thought of Doggett as a Lycra man. 

He'd have guessed the agent to be the heavy-cotton, boxing-type shorts, something butch and sturdy. A bit like the man himself. But here it was - a tightly-wrapped, skin-tight, nicely defined package of Doggett. 

He wanted to look away, he knew he ought to, and he really wanted to. But his eyes absolutely refused to move. Nailed to the front of the black-clad groin. 

Doggett watched the progress of Skinner's eyes as they tracked their way from his face. Stared as the gaze wandered slowly down his body to settle in the region of his... 

Jesus H. Christ! 

His own eyes widening in shock, he let go of the bar and sat up quickly. Too quickly. With a dull clank, his forehead connected with the steel bar, sending him back the way he came, landing on the bench with a thump. 

"Aw.... Shit..." he groaned, reaching up to rub between his eyes. "Goddamnit..." 

Way to go, John. Dignified as ever. Was he ever gonna get a break in front of this man? He massaged his face with gentle fingers. 

"John. Are you okay?" Above him, Skinner peered in concern. At least his eyes were on his face, this time, he thought. 

"Yeah, I'm just peachy," he muttered, wondering if he was sporting a pattern from the bar between his eyes. 

"Let me see..." 

Sitting up more carefully this time, Doggett ducked under the bar and thought that Skinner had probably seen quite enough of him for one day. He flinched back as the other man reached for him. 

"Nah, s'okay." 

"John..." The AD used his 'I-take-no-shit' voice. 

"I'm fine," he growled. Two could play at that game. 

Skinner straightened up, his hands on his hips. He glared down at Doggett, who just glared right back up. Damn... He was one stubborn man. 

"You're going to have a hell of a bruise there, tomorrow," he told him, keeping his hands to himself through force of will. The urge to kiss the bruise better was overwhelming. 

Doggett pulled a face. "Yeah?" 

He nodded. "Let me put some ice on it." 

Grunting, the scowling agent poked at his forehead. "No." 

"Yes..." Skinner reached out and took hold his hand. "Don't do that. You'll make it worse." 

"Will not." 

Skinner smiled. Doggett sounded like a petulant little boy. He pulled his hand. "Come on. There's ice in the relaxation suite." With surprisingly little resistance, the younger man gracelessly allowed Skinner to pull him to a standing position. 

"I'm fine, really," he protested. 

"I'm sure you are," Skinner agreed, weaving them through the machines towards the stairs. "But indulge me." 

Doggett opened his mouth to make a comment that his boss indulging himself while he was lying down had caused this, but snapped his mouth shut instead. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to his shorts again. He felt himself go warm at the memory of where those brown eyes had been. 

With his free hand, he tugged the hem of his shirt. Never again. He was _never_ going to put these things on again. He scowled as Skinner pulled him down the stairs like a kid. Good job the sight of two men hand-in-hand raised no eyebrows in this place. He wondered if his boss realised what he was doing. He allowed himself to be led, enjoying the contact. 

"Here we go..." Pushing the door open, Skinner herded Doggett in. "Go sit over there." 

He indicated the tiled bench by the sauna and moved to stand by the ice machine. It was spitting out chips into a large steel bowl, intent on burying a drinks bottle. Gathering up a large handful he made a snowball. 

Pity he hadn't got a cloth to wrap it in. Putting ice straight on bare skin was never a good idea. He looked around. Nothing. Glancing down, he briefly contemplated utilising his teeshirt, but there was no way he could stand in front of Doggett sporting the remains of his woody. 

Tramping down a squirm of delight at his boldness, he tilted his chin. 

"Take off your shirt." 

"What?" 

"Give it to me." 

Skinner stood in front of his agent, holding out a hand and trying not to look too eager. 

Doggett stared up at his boss, mouth slightly agape. He couldn't be serious? 

"What for?" 

"I need it to wrap the ice." 

"Why?" 

"So you don't get freezer-burn." 

He frowned. Pork chops that were in the freezer too long got that. Not people. 

"But..." 

Skinner was clicking his fingers. "Come on, it isn't exactly comfortable holding this, you know." 

Water dripped, pooling between their feet. 

Sighing, Doggett took the hem of his shirt in a tight grip. Surely he didn't need all this fuss? Skinner was over-reacting. 

"I really am fine, you know," he said, procrastinating. 

"Yes... Yes, you are. Now give." 

Doggett rolled his eyes and pulled up, giving Skinner a sharp pang right in the centre of his groin as the body slowly peeled out from under the gray material. 

Flat stomach gave way to a nicely shaped chest with just a hint of fine hair. 

Skinner stared as biceps flexed, pulling the shirt all the way off. God... his shoulders were incredibly wide. Those suits did absolutely nothing to show off his shape, Skinner thought. It ought to be a crime for the man to wear nothing but tight tee shirts. 

And those arms.... 

He pulled in a sharp breath. Get a grip, Walter. 

He handed over the clothing with a scowl. "Here." 

"Thank you." Skinner took the proffered item on autopilot. His eyes were still busy taking in the naked torso. Had Doggett always been this toned? God... He wished he'd seen this body before. 

Wordlessly, he wrapped up the handful of ice and wound it into a tight knot, still unable to tear his eyes away from Doggett's body. 

Doggett felt the dark eyes on him, the intense gaze beginning to make him uncomfortable. Jesus! What the hell was the problem? He had an absurd urge to cover his body with his hands, like some blushing virgin. 

Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. "You about done?" he snapped. 

Skinner eventually looked him in the eyes. "Huh?" 

Again with that unSkinner-like word and the funny look. Doggett scratched his ear. What the hell _was_ that expression? 

"I asked if you were done staring at me like I'm some kinda blue monkey." 

Skinner shook his head and chuckled. "A what?" 

"Somethin' my mama used to say," Doggett muttered, looking down at his feet. The sight of his boss actually laughing was probably the weirdest thing that had happened so far. 

"A blue monkey..." Skinner murmured, smiling as he stepped forward to grasp Doggett behind the head, leaning in with the ice-pack. "Hold still now." 

Holding his breath at the unexpected touch, Doggett did as he was told and held perfectly still. He could feel strong fingers sliding through the hair at the base of his head. 

Skinner was standing incredibly close, right between his parted knees. Eyes wide, Doggett could feel his heart starting to bounce around in his chest with excitement. 

As his fingers slipped through the short hair at Doggett's neck, Skinner felt a shiver go through his body. The skin under his hand was slick, the hair wet and cold with sweat. Strangely, rather than being gross, it was incredibly erotic. 

Carefully placing the bundle of ice on Doggett's forehead, he heard his hiss of breath and felt the trapped head twitch as a small grunt escaped him. 

"Okay..." he soothed. "It's okay." 

He was standing between Doggett's open legs, a position so dangerously erotic and suggestive he felt another rush of arousal down in his groin. He could feel his knees brushing the sides of Doggett's, hot and damp. 

They were so close he could smell the younger man's body, a clean sharp smell of hot skin and salt. It made his nostrils flare. God, he smelled wonderful. 

With the shirt bunched up right between his eyes, Skinner was effectively blocked from Doggett's sight, which was just as well, because he was struggling to keep himself under control. 

The heat of the big thighs next his was driving him crazy. He had to clench his fists to keep from running his hands up the hairy legs. He itched to grab Skinner by the ass. 

His eyes screwed up tight. Don't think about that, John... he told himself. Uh-uh. Thinking about that'll drive you nuts. He concentrated on the dull throb between his eyes, ignoring the deeper throb between his legs. 

Slowly pulling his hand from behind Doggett's head, Skinner made the most of this rare opportunity to touch the man. Relishing the slide over the scratchy bristle on the side of his neck he brought his hand around to cup Doggett's jaw. The feel of the another man's evening stubble was delightful. Screw professional ethics. He was going to make the most of this. 

John's eyes were tightly shut, so Skinner took the opportunity to study his face up close. He inspected the laughter-lines framing each eye, the sloping scar on the nose, wondering how he'd got it, peered at the mole on the side of the chin, lightly running his thumb over it, smiling as Doggett jumped slightly at the contact. Must be ticklish. 

"Let me see," he said at last, tilting Doggett's head up and moving the ice-pack away from his bruise. 

The mark was red, but not serious. It probably hadn't warranted ice at all, but he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed every second of ministering to him. 

"Nearly gone," he said, looking this way and that. "I think you'll live." 

Doggett slowly opened his eyes. Skinner had his hand on his chin, moving him gently first one way then the other. His mouth was suddenly cotton-dry. His boss was less than a foot away. Right in front of him. Inside his personal space, leaning down, staring into his face. 

He swallowed. Act natural, Doggett. 

"Uh-huh," he said. "Y'think?" 

"I think so." Skinner smiled, almost tipping the last of Doggett's control over the edge. 

"Yeah..." The word breathed out, taking every ounce of his strength. He stared into almost black eyes, wishing he had the courage or bald-faced recklessness to ask for a kiss. Never mind that Skinner might strangle him with his bare hands, it'd be worth every brief second. 

"Does it still hurt?" 

"Some..." The word came out little more than a whisper. He watched that smile appear again, as his chin was jiggled slightly. 

"Baby," Skinner told him, softly. 

"It hurt," Doggett replied, hoping he didn't sound like he was whining. 

"Yeah?" 

"Uh-huh." 

Skinner stared into the speckled depths of those blue eyes, gauging the reaction to touching him like this. He didn't think they had ever been this close, this unbusiness-like with each other. 

Weird as it was, Doggett seemed okay with it, though. If anything, he got the impression he was enjoying the contact. 

It felt almost as if he was leaning into the touch, his eyes bright with dilated pupils, his breathing shallow and erratic. Certainly his voice had gone very rough and quiet. If he didn't know any better, he'd guess Doggett was very uneasy with their proximity. Uneasy, he mused, or turned on. 

The thought slammed into him, shocking him to the core. Taking the outrageous possibility that John might actually quite like this, he gathered up his courage, leaned that few inches further to place his lips very gently on the red mark. 

For a moment, Doggett imagined he was going to faint, the fact that Skinner seemed to be tipping towards him, and then as hot lips touched his skin, he was _sure_ he was going to pass out. 

The barest hint of pressure on the bruise, a gossamer brush held in place for seconds that stretched into hours. The world squealed and narrowed to the one point in the universe that mattered to him. Skinner's lips on his skin, the feel of his breath in his hair. 

In the next heartbeat it might be a laughed off as joke, or dismissed as a teasingly ironic gesture, but at that very moment, it was nothing but the most wonderful thing he had felt in a very long time. 

His eyes melted shut. All the blood in his body seemed to rush down to his lap warming him, making him swell against the constraints of his shorts, leaving him light-headed. 

Too soon it was over and Skinner was moving away, taking his touch with him. 

"There." Skinner's deep voice sounded like it was a million miles away. 

Doggett opened his eyes, wondering if how that had affected him showed on his face. He knew damn well it was showing in his shorts. And there it was. That expression all over Skinner's face. But this time he recognised it. 

It slowly dawned on him that he'd seen a similar expression the last time he'd looked in the mirror. 

Skinner allowed herself just bare seconds to savour the feel of hot skin beneath his lips, inhale the scent of damp hair, before retreating to a safe distance. 

"All better," he whispered. He swallowed hard. 

Doggett was staring up at him, his mouth hanging open, an expression of such desperation on his face that his breath caught in his throat. The other man looked utterly shattered. 

Skinner thought about asking if he was alright, but wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer when it was clear Doggett was anything but. Chagrined at his totally unprofessional behaviour, he snatched his eyes away from that intense gaze and down towards the floor, pausing briefly at the Lycra out of sheer habit. 

What he saw there pulled his jaw down. 

Doggett was filling the shorts in a way he hadn't been before that kiss. 

Skinner stared. His erection was pulling the material out of shape, the curve of his swollen flesh emphasized by the sheen from the fabric. Even the large vein running down the length of him was clearly visible. He was sure the man seemed to grow larger under his gaze. 

"Oh..." he said. 

Doggett watched Skinner's eyes slide down his body and come to rest on his groin. He knew his arousal must be glaringly apparent, but he made no move to cover himself. Let his boss see what he did to him. He didn't care any more. He'd been given absolution when he saw the same hunger in those dark eyes. 

Skinner looked at Doggett's groin in amazement. 

He had done that to him... He had done that to him... 

The chant ran through his mind, gathering up all the erotic thoughts he'd ever had about this man and threw them, screaming in triumph. He wanted him. 

Skinner swallowed. He wanted him _bad_. 

The very idea made his legs weak, his belly flip. Slowly, a smile appeared on his face. 

Jesus fucking Christ... They both wanted the same thing. 

Outrageous, unbelievable and completely unexpected, but apparently true. 

Okay, Doggett might not know that he felt the same way yet, but all he had to do was let him know. Give him a clue that the feelings he had growing in his pants were more than reciprocated. 

Skinner bit his lip, thinking. How to put this? How to broach the subject of something that was so exciting yet terrifying, it made his guts do Hokey-Pokey?. He thought some more, then brightened. 

The solution was simple. 

Entranced by the myriad of expressions flitting across Skinner's face, Doggett could do nothing but sit and stare helplessly, his hands limp at his sides. The blush of arousal sat high in the older man's cheeks making his eyes bright. He thought his boss was the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on. 

A slow smile spread over Skinner's face as he looked up from Doggett's groin. The sight gave him goose bumps. 

"Hey..." he said softly. He dropped the ice-filled clothing on the bench and brought his hand up to Doggett's chin again. 

As he opened his mouth to reply, Skinner dropped his head and placed their lips together, a scorching tongue brushing over the edges of Doggett's mouth. 

Shocked but thrilled beyond belief, Doggett opened his mouth wider without the slightest hesitation and allowed Skinner to slip inside. Taking a tighter hold on Doggett's chin, Skinner slid his tongue inside the open mouth, secretly thrilled by his own boldness, and Doggett's surrender. He touched his tongue to the other, feeling a bolt of pleasure stab his crotch as their tongues stroked each other, their spit mingling together. 

Turning his head to get better access, he mused that while Doggett may have given himself up, he was by no means a helpless bystander in this kiss. He allowed Skinner to plunder his mouth, but suckled on his tongue in reply, every thrust gained was countered by an equally sensuous riposte. 

The restrained passion behind their kiss took Doggett's breath away. How long had he wanted this? And if this was the first time they kissed, then how much more exciting would it be when they had learned each other's bodies? He shuddered in anticipation. 

Skinner felt the tremble run through Doggett's body and it shook him out of his haze. He pulled his tongue out of the other's mouth and leaned back a touch. Draggling in a wobbly breath, he looked straight into those shocking blue eyes. 

"You okay?" he whispered. He couldn't bear it if he was having second thoughts, or panicking about kissing him. 

"Huh?" he said, his mouth wet and open. 

"You okay with this?" Skinner asked again, reaching to brush the wet hair from Doggett's forehead. It thrilled him to his core that he was allowed to do it. Doggett shook his head, taking Skinner's face between both his hands. 

"Again," he said hoarsely, then covered his mouth again, this time urgently, more deeply than before. 

Grunting under the assault, Skinner put both hands on Doggett's wide shoulders. 

Doggett felt those hands on him and another burst of arousal flooded his body. He bit down into the kiss, trying to let Skinner know that he was more than okay with this. Without breaking the contact between their mouths, he moved closer, forcing his thighs wide apart, until Skinner stood with his thighs touching his crotch. 

Doggett grunted as the legs made contact with his erection. 

Shamelessly, he adjusted his position to touch him again. 

Wanting Skinner to know he was the cause of it. 

God... Doggett couldn't breath. Never mind the fact that man who had haunted his thoughts 24/7 was kissing him like he wanted to drown in his mouth, he was also allowing Doggett to rub himself against him. The pressure of the big leg on his crotch was making his dick swell outrageously, making it impossible to draw breath. He pushed himself harder, vaguely embarrassed by his need, but unable to stop himself. He groaned at Skinner's answering shift of position. Jesus! If the big man wriggled his knee around much more like that, he was going to disgrace himself and come in his shorts like a teenager. 

Trying to distract himself from what was going on between his legs, he began to move his hands. Down Skinner's face, over his arms and down to his waist seeking the bottom of his tee shirt. His hungry fingers found a tiny strip of bare skin and wriggled inside, pushing their way up a bare back. 

When Doggett's hands touched the skin on his back, Skinner shuddered, hardly able to believe what he did to him with the merest touch. He arched himself towards the other man, reveling in the contact, feeling both his warm hands, and his excitement under his leg. He pulled at Doggett's wet hair, tugging him closer, wanting to crawl inside his mouth. 

Part of his mind was standing over by the ice machine, watching the pair of them making out like sex-starved mink, shaking its head and tutting. God knows what they must look like. 

God knows what anyone at the Bureau would think. 

It would probably take the Director thirty seconds to fire him for conduct unbecoming, in a public place, but Skinner couldn't really bring himself to care. He'd been holding himself back for too long, and now he'd breached his personal defences, he was completely helpless. 

He rubbed himself on Doggett's crotch trying to scratch the itch that was building inside. He felt hot, bothered and very, very horny. All the blood that normally kept his head sane and sensible had gone between his legs and was making him throb and swell. 

Doggett pulled himself away from Skinner insistent lips. Jesus! He was going to come any second if he kept rubbing him like that. 

"Stop..." he gasped. "Wait..." 

Skinner waited, holding still, thank God. He drew in a shaky breath. 

Then another one, spreading his hands over the small of the large back. He was pleased to hear the little moan that dribbled out of the other man. 

"Just gimme a second, okay?" he said, closing his eyes and resting his head on Skinner's hard belly. 

He willed his orgasm to abate, focussing on his breathing, swallowing. 

Skinner waited, using the moment to reign himself back from the edge. He bent his head to Doggett's and inhaled. God, he smelled good. 

"You okay?" he whispered into a cute, furled-over ear. He grinned as Doggett shuddered at the words. 

"Not if you do that." 

"What?" Skinner grinned, knowing exactly what he meant. He blew into the ear. 

"Hey!" Pulling away, Doggett rubbed his ear, turning Skinner's smile into a laugh. 

"My God... You're ticklish!" 

"So?" 

"I didn't know." 

"Well, you do now." 

Skinner nodded. "So I do." He reached up and pulled his hand away. "It's okay. I won't do it again." 

"Gee, that's a shame." 

"Oh, yeah?" 

"Yeah. I like it." He winked, grinning. "Turns me on." 

Skinner threw back his head and laughed delightedly. 

Doggett watched his boss laughing, a warm feeling settling in his belly. He wished he'd have had cause to do that more the past few years. He looked absolutely wonderful. 

"You think that's funny?" he teased. 

Wiping his eyes, Skinner shook his head. "Not really, but it seems to me like everything turns you on, John Doggett." To make his point, he leaned his leg into a hardened crotch. 

Groaning, Doggett winced. "Jeez, man... Have pity!" He put his hand on Skinner's inner thigh to push him away. It felt hot, hairy and hard as iron. In pretty good shape for a man of his age. 

"You don't like this?" Skinner's knee nudged his hand. 

Shaking his head, Doggett gazed up at the grinning face. God, he was beautiful. 

"Yeah, I like," he said, moving his hand to cover himself. "I like it _too_ much." 

Skinner laughed again. "Take it like a man, John Doggett." 

He flashed up a look. "You think that's funny?" 

He smirked down at him. "Maybe." 

Doggett smiled. "Well, let's see how you like it." 

Skinner grinned as he was pushed backwards a touch. He felt outrageous, reckless and a little bit out of control. 

Hell... He was a _lot_ out of control, he thought as Doggett ran his hands over his sides. And it felt wonderful. 

"Yeah?" he said, tipping the chin to up. "Think you can bother me?" 

Doggett grinned up, sending a fizzy feeling into his guts. "You better believe it." He stared for a second longer then dipped his head to rest his forehead back on Skinner's belly, bringing both hands up to sneak under his teeshirt. Fingers ran over her skin, tickling slightly. 

Skinner resisted the urge to shudder, putting both hands up to rest on bare shoulders. 

"Nope. Not happening, I'm afraid," he lied, unconsciously squeezing the skin under his hands. 

Doggett didn't bother answering him, just pushed his shirt up a little more. And with a rush of desire, Skinner felt his mouth on his belly. 

Doggett grinned at the way Skinner jumped when he kissed his stomach. Not so tough, after all. He pressed his advantage, kissing a line across the exposed skin, his lips dragging through the hair. The heat of Skinner's body and the smell of his scent was driving him crazy. He was intoxicated with the knowledge that this man wanted him, wanted him to do this. Giddy, he traced the skin above the edge of the shorts-elastic with his tongue, thrilled to feel the man under his touch, shuddering. 

Hands kneaded his shoulder, pulling and squeezing his skin, encouraging him. 

Pushing his hands up inside the shirt all the way to his pecs, he stroked both nipples with his thumbs. There was a tiny sound from way above his head. 

He looked up. "Not happening?" he teased. 

"Uh-uh." Skinner shook his head fiercely. "Not even close," he whispered, his eyes tightly shut. 

Chuckling, Doggett pursed his lips. "Okay... Let's try again." He ducked down and nestled his face in the furry belly, opening his mouth to suckle on the skin. 

This time Skinner jumped significantly, but he didn't stop. He bit gently on the rise of a hip bone as his hands slid down to the top of the shorts. He was determined to make this man shudder again, to feel his body respond helplessly to him. 

The scrape of Doggett's teeth on his skin was incredible. Skinner held his breath as the teeth bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but perversely, firmly enough to make him want Doggett to do it harder. 

His eyes screwed up tighter as he leaned in. 

There wasn't any time to consider how the biting sensation of those teeth made him feel about himself, because two strong hands were snaking under the elastic of his shorts, hooking agile fingers under and tugging slightly. His eyes popped open. He looked down. 

Doggett was sliding his shorts dangerously low on his hips as he nipped and sucked on bare skin, working his way lower and lower... 

Oh shit... His body jerked as the other man reached the tender flesh just above his pubic hair. His hands gripped tighter, holding Doggett still, belly pressed to his mouth. 

Skinner swallowed, despite his determination not to show how this affecting him, his body betrayed him, insinuating itself into Doggett, flushing and hardening. 

"Doggett..." Skinner cleared his throat, unable to take his eyes off the sight of the sweat-spiked head bent so intimately to his body. He clenched his hands on the slick shoulders. 

"Okay," he sighed, relenting. 

If Doggett kept this up, he was going to come from the teasing, the very suggestion of intimacy alone. 

Doggett ignored him. He could feel the hands kneading urgently on him, smell the heat and hear how unsteady his voice was. He grinned in triumph, dragging his tongue almost to the start of Skinner's erection. 

Payback was a bitch. 

He pulled his hands out of the constraints of the waistband and quickly ran them up the back of Skinner's thighs, sliding under the hem of his shorts and up to his ass. He heard a groan as he grabbed hard and pushed Skinner's crotch into his face, nuzzling his cock through the material. 

"Shit!" Skinner grabbed him by the hair and pulled him sharply away. 

Leaving his hands where they were Doggett grinned up, holding on tight to the ass in his hands. "Yeah?" he asked as innocently as he could. 

Skinner scowled down at him. He shook his head lightly. "You..." 

"Think we're 'bout even, now?" 

Narrowing his eyes, but smiling slightly, Skinner stared down, still holding tight to the handful of damp hair. He wasn't holding hard enough to hurt and Doggett knew he could pull away quite easily, but he allowed himself to be held still, enjoying the power-game. 

"You are a dangerous man, John Doggett," Skinner said, tightening his grip on the hair, shaking the other man 's head back and forth slightly. 

Doggett just stared up, big blue eyes sparkling, a wicked grin on his face. Skinner thought he looked utterly, and completely beautiful. 

"Dangerous? Me?" 

"Oh, yes." Skinner bent down and put his lips over Doggett's. "But I rather like that," he said, their mouths brushing together. As Doggett stretched up to complete the kiss, he moved back, smiling. 

The look of pique on his agent's face was well worth the disappointment of missing out on a kiss. Skinner plopped one on the undamaged bit of his forehead instead. 

"What am I going to do with you?" he mused, sliding his fingers through Doggett's hair. 

He smoothed his palms over those wide shoulders again. Somehow he doubted he would ever get enough of this golden, well-defined body. His hands wanted to run all over it, rubbing, scratching, kneading. He wanted to touch all of this man, wanted to taste every inch. 

But the relaxation room of the gym wasn't really the place. They were damned lucky not to have been interrupted as it was. 

"And what exactly is it you'd _like_ to do with me?" Doggett asked, his head tilted curiously. 

Skinner grinned. 

The look on his boss' face was enough to make the blood pooled in Doggett's crotch roar and pound. That expression told him there was a whole host of things he wanted to do with him, and that was just peachy. 

He licked his lips. "Because I think we should compare suggestions, don't you?" 

"Oh? You think you have some input on this matter, do you?" Skinner's hands roamed down the front of his chest. 

Doggett nodded. "I reckon I have some pretty good proposals." 

"Been thinking about it for a while, then?" 

"Some," he admitted, grinning. Maybe one day, he'd get round to confessing just how much his boss had been occupying his thoughts. 

"Ah. I see." Skinner was busy playing with his nipples, teasing and pinching lightly. Doggett arched his back, enjoying the sharp sensations. 

Skinner watched as the nipples peaked and tightened as he played with them. Doggett was unbelievingly responsive. More than he'd ever hoped for. Even more than he'd fantasized. His insides shivered at the thought of getting this man somewhere private to explore just how responsive he could be. 

He leaned towards Doggett again, brushing their lips together. 

"Your place or mine?" he whispered, moving to pull away again. 

But this time Doggett whipped his hand up and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down, capturing his mouth. He deftly opened it up with his lips and slid his tongue inside to kiss Skinner, slowly, deeply, and thoroughly, before letting go. 

"Mine," he said, wet lips sliding across the rough cheek towards an ear. "S'closer." 

Skinner shuddered at his words and nodded. "Ten minutes?" he whispered, nodding towards the locker rooms. 

Doggett scratched his nails down the evening-beard on Skinner's face, almost hard enough to hurt. 

"Uh-huh." 

Skinner watched as Doggett sat there touching his face, running his fingers over his jaw, across his mouth. He seemed hypnotised. 

"John..." He smiled. John wasn't listening. Grabbing his chin, Skinner pulled Doggett round to look him in the eyes. 

"Meet me out front. Ten minutes, okay?" 

He nodded. "Ten minutes." 

"If you're not in your car ready to follow me, I'm going home alone." 

Panic flitted across Doggett's face for a second. He shook his head firmly. "I'll be there." 

"Uh-huh. One more thing..." He waited until he had Doggett's complete attention, then gave in to the urge he'd had in the gym and ran his tongue up the side of the other man's face. The salt of his sweat made his mouth water. 

Skinner narrowed his eyes and glared. 

"Don't you dare shower. You hear me?" 

Throat bobbing as he swallowed, Doggett nodded. "No, sir." 

Smiling, Skinner let go of his chin and stood back. He walked backwards towards the changing rooms, holding Doggett's gaze the whole time. 

He wanted to remember every detail of this scene. 

The endearingly mussed hair. The way he was having to sit, with his legs spread to accommodate his straining erection. The sheen of sweat on his skin, the fire shining in his eyes. 

John Doggett was the essence of sexual arousal and physical perfection. 

And he was all his. 

The smile turned into a feral grin. Skinner held up a finger as he opened the door. 

"Ten minutes." By the look on Doggett's face, he'd be ready in three.   
  

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